Hush
by Mattess
Summary: You think you are cursed dear boy; Hell as only begun to spins its web for you. When the Wizarding world turns its back on Harry, desperation and depression soon take their toll and Harry nears the brink of suicide, until his enemies come to his aid. However, Draco Malfoy has his own demons to face, and the trouble has just begun. Mpreg, HP/DM, slight HP/SS Dumbledore/Weasley bash
1. Problems

| Synopsis: | You think you are cursed dear boy; Hell as only begun to spins its web for you. When the Wizarding world turns its back on Harry, desperation and depression soon take their toll and Harry nears the brink of suicide, until his enemies come to his aid. Mpreg, HP/DM, slight HP/SS Dumbledore/Weasley bashing

| © 2012 to Ms. J.K. Rowling. This is a work of Fan Fiction and no profit is—or ever will—being made from it. |

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| _**July 30-31, 1995**_**—****Surrey, Privet Drive No. 4, Smallest Bedroom**

PROBLEMS |

He was exhausted, physically and mentally, but sleeping scared him. He didn't like closing his eyes and reliving the terrors. There was just too much of it to handle. He might go insane if he tried to wrestle his demons, so he didn't sleep. Something burned in his stomach, muscles clenching in hunger. He hated food as much as he hated sleep. Eating made him sick these days, so he avoided that too. It was better this way for him. If he continued to avoid all his problems then they'll all eventually go away.

Right?

He chewed on his tongue thoughtfully, tasting the blood and enjoying the pain. It has been nearly three months since he last heard anything from his friends. Maybe they knew about his problem and were disgusted with him. Yes, that made a lot of sense now. That's why they haven't written at all; they were all disgusted that there was a dead man's baby growing inside him. He leaned back against the headboard of his bed, lifted up his baggy shirt and fixed a glare to the small bump that had taken residence on his stomach.

Why wasn't this problem going away already?

He pressed his index finger against the slightly hard mound, frowning in anger. Why was it still there? It should be gone by now. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and was horribly underweight so why the problem still there. He pressed his entire hand against the bump, trying to deflate it, but to no success. His problem was fighting him back. Tears streaked his face as his frustration mounted. No no no! This just wasn't fair at all! Why did all this have to happen to him; hadn't he suffered enough as is? Digging his nails into the round bump, he didn't release his hold until blood dampened his fingers.

There, that ought to do something about the problem now.

Drawing back his hand, he stared at it with some satisfaction in his eyes. He was so thin, the blood was so thin too; thin red and beautiful. He wanted to see more of it. Pulling down his shirt, he slowly eased himself out of bed and padded barefoot to his bedroom door. Pressing his ear against the door, he listened for any sounds. Happy that his relatives were still sound asleep, he slowly eased the door open and tiptoed out of his bedroom door. There was snoring coming from both occupied bedrooms down the hall. Each step down the staircase was careful and time-consuming, but it would be all worth it in the end.

It had to be.

Slipping into the kitchen, he slowly pulled the silverware drawer open and pulled out his new treasure. In the glow of the moonlight, the pear knife glowed blue. He had never seen anything so beautiful before. Cradling it to his chest as though it was a priceless jewel, he made his way back to the isolating comfort that was his bedroom. Clicking the lock in place, he slid down to the floor, kneeling and caressing the flat surface of the blade. He hesitated for a few seconds, wondering if he was strong enough to actually do it.

He sucked in a mouthful of air, placed the knife beside him, and pulled off his shirt. He didn't make for the blade right away, taking a moment to examine his new body. His fingers danced along his collarbone, curling underneath it. His hand went lower, skimming through paper-thin flesh and a chest thick with blue veins frozen with ice. Lower it went, fingers digging between ribs and nearly touching what was inside. Finally, there was his sunken in stomach where the problem now lived. Inside he knew he wasn't shiny, pink, and clean.

He was dirty.

And he wanted that to change.

He retrieved the blade and pressed the edge to the evil problem on his stomach. It needed to go away—it _had_ to go away. If it didn't then he'll never have his friends by his side again, he would be all alone, and that scared him. He pinched his eyes shut, pressed harder, took a deep breath.

He could do this. He could do this. He could kill Cedric's baby.

The knife trembled in his hand, scattered and bit him. He gasped out in alarm. The knife dropped to the floor as he cupped the bleeding bump. No no no! This was no good! No good at all! He'd hurt it, he'd hurt the problem. He'd hurt Cedric's baby. Tears burned his eyes and streamed down his face, thick and hot. He could feel the blood thickening in his hands, and his fears heightened.

"I'm sorry….I-I'm sorry I didn't mean…I didn't mean to hurt you….I'm sorry," he stammered weakly, voice hoarse from weeks without usage. He curled in on himself, trying to will the blood to stop.

He'd made a mistake. He'd hurt Cedric's baby.

The blood didn't stop. He was desperate now, desperate to save his problem. He'd made a mistake, trying to avoid all his problems. He was starting to understand that now. Getting to his shaky feet, he made his way to his dressers and pulled open drawers, desperate to find the First AID kit he'd kept in there. Keeping one hand firmly against his belly, he sobbed in relief when he pulled the box out and quickly opened it. Still sobbing and whispering words of apology to the problem inside him, he carefully cleaned up the blood with cotton swabs and dressed the wound.

Deflated, he felt horribly deflated now. Pulling his blanket around him, he continued to press his bloodied hands to his stomach, whimpering softly. Cedric would hate him if he were here now. Hate him, call him a bad person, and take the problem away with him. But Cedric was dead. He was dead and he left his problem for others to deal with.

"It's fine now….it's fine really…I won't hurt you anymore…its fine now…." He mumbled, closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep, to sleep and just forget, but he made a promise, right? A promise to not hurt his problem anymore, even if he didn't want it at all. "It's okay now…everything is okay…"

He was such a bad liar.

There was a new noise now. An annoying rap-tap-tapping that made him open his eyes. He blinked, exhaustion retreating for a moment as he turned his head toward the window. A barn owl was rapping against the glass, clearly agitated that it was being made to wait this long. He slowly pulled himself to his feet, and, keeping the blanket tight around himself, went over to the window and opened it. The owl soared into the bedroom and settled onto the desk chair, leg outstretched. His heart fluttered in his chest, wondering if it was what he thought it would be: a post from his friends.

Unburdening the owl, he made his way back to his bed and sat down. Unrolling the parchment paper, he smoothed it out, barely noticing the smear of blood on the page in his excitement to read its contents. He read it, and his face fell.

That wasn't at all what he was expecting.

Dear Harry,

_I know that this wasn't exactly what you were hoping to hear __but with everything that has happened in the past few days I felt __guilty that you were being left in the dark. This is hard for me to say __but Harry the reason behind you're not coming over to the Burrow sooner __is because there are some problems, and it just wasn't going to happen. __Harry, you're my friend and despite what everyone is saying I __Know that you're a good person, but things are difficult nowadays. __Everyone is afraid and I know that there is no explanation that I could give you __To protect you from the truth—Harry have you taken a chance to read the __Daily Prophet at all? Please, if not, do. I can't even begin to explain things, __Because I'm just as confused on how to digest all this. __I'm sorry that is letter doesn't make any sense. I'm not even sure __Myself anyone. Mum and Dad are worried and confused, and Ron and Hermione __Won't tell me why they're angry with you. No one is listening to me, __Even though I keep telling them that you're not who the Daily Prophet says. __I know you're sane, Harry. I know you're not evil. For now, I'll try my hardest to try and __Get through Hermione—she's more sensible. __If you ever need anything, Harry, I'm here for you. Don't forget that. By the way,_

_Happy birthday._

Ginny.

A hysterical laugh bubbled in his chest. So that's why they didn't want to talk to him. It wasn't because of Cedric's baby at all. They all thought he was mad. He wadded up the letter, dropping it the floor. They thought he was mad. Maybe he was; he certainly did feel mad these days. His head hurt now, hurt real bad, and his stomach was tight and burning. He slumped over, curled up in his bed, and wrapped himself tighter in his blanket.

He was tired, his head hurt, he had a problem in his stomach, and he was hungry.

And, to add insult to injury, his friends hated him and thought he was mad.

Not for once in his life, Harry Potter wished he were just another normal boy.


	2. Wondering

| Synopsis: | You think you are cursed dear boy; Hell as only begun to spins its web for you. When the Wizarding world turns its back on Harry, desperation and depression soon take their toll and Harry nears the brink of suicide, until his enemies come to his aid. Mpreg, HP/DM, slight HP/SS Dumbledore/Weasley bashing

| Thanks to those who read, reviewed, and favorite/followed. It means a lot to me right now. |

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| _**July 31, 1995**_**—Surrey, Privet Drive No. 4,**

WONDERING |

The sun was too bright, and his head was hurting because of it. He pressed his face against the scorching surface of the picket fence, eyes hooded over, and sweat rolling down his neck. It was too bright, too hot outside. He didn't want to mow the lawn, paint the patio bench, or trim the hedges. He wanted to be out of the sun, and under his blankets in bed. His lungs were hurting now too, hurting because hot air was coming in and burning him.

He was in pain.

"Boy what in rudy hell are you doing?"

He winced, pried his face off the fence. It was too hot, his head was hurting, and now there was yelling. He blinked, stood up, and turned to face his beat-faced uncle. He put a hand on the fence to settle himself, blinking away the spots from his eyes. His uncle was in front of him now, mustache trembling, and eyes burning.

"Three hours ago—I told you to finish all the chores three hours ago and you were napping!" he roared, meaty hand raised and ready to strike. "Worthless freak I should have thrown you out years ago!"

He was tired, the sun was too hot, and the yelling was hurting his ears. He shook his head to clear it His uncle took it the wrong way and he was now on the ground, holding his face. His face felt funny, blotchy, hotter, and wet. It took him a second to realize that he was crying. He wiped his teary eyes with a shaky hand, keeping his head down. Why was he hit again? He was doing the work, he was, but it was so hot outside, so hot and he was so tired and his head was hurting too badly and he just did not know….

"I'm sorry," he said in a tiny voice, blinking back tears. "I'll get it done. I'll finish it right now."

"Better," his uncle snarled. "I will not have you lazing around while we slave around to put food in your mouth."

He nodded and stood up slowly. His stomach churned and he felt like he going to be sick. A deep breath settled it somewhat but the feeling did not go away. His uncle was still watching him, looking at him as if he wanted to slay him immediately. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turned his back to his uncle and went to the shed to retrieve the lawn mower. When he came back out his uncle was gone. Turning on the mower, he spent the next thirty minutes in agonizing pain, pushing, huffing, and groaning as his muscles cramped up and complained. By the time he was done the sun was hanging lazily over the horizon, ready to drop out of the sight. Putting the mower away and taking a second to stretch out his muscles, Harry gazed up at the sky with tired eyes, his hand dropping down to rub his stomach.

He was hungry. He was tired and sore. He was going to have a baby at only fifteen. He did not think his situation could get any worse than what it already was.

There was an intense tightening in his stomach, a churning burn and he was doubling over his aunt's flower garden, dry heaving and gagging as vomit pushed up his throat. The acid burned his throat and hit the earthy ground with heavy chunks. Groaning in pain and shaking he kept heaving until there was nothing left to bring up from the small breakfast that morning. Another moan, softer, weaker, and he was on his knees, face chalky and soaking with sweat. He felt horrible. So horrible, and could not bring himself to move again. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he brought his knees up and tried to breathe some of the nausea away. It helped, a little, but he felt even worse than before.

He was tired, so tired. The sun and the work had drained him even more. He was hungry but not hungry. Sick and pregnant. He wanted to cry again. Crying seemed to work a lot from him the last few months. A tear rolled down his sweaty face. Then another and another and another until a thick stream of tears had taken over his face. He sat there sobbing and gasping and crying and not knowing what to do. He was scared, scared because he was pregnant and alone. Scared because everyone he thought he could trust and it had abandoned him just-it just was not fair.

Harry was scared and no one was there for him.

Wiping his tears away, he stood up shakily and stifled his sobs with his hand. Sniffing and holding his stomach, Harry made his way back inside the house. The heavy smell of roast beef reached his nose and his stomach lurched, tensing, and ready to blow apart again. Plugging up his nose, Harry made his way upstairs to his bedroom and closed the door. Halfway to the window he noticed the caked blood on the sheets. His hand went down to stomach and stroked the growing bump apologetically.

He still felt bad, really bad for hurting Cedric's baby. Sitting down he kept stroking it half-wondering what will happen later. What will he do when Cedric's baby is born? He was too young for all this, too young and already having so many other problems to be able to take care of Cedric's baby. Still—still he wondered what will happen after the baby is born.

He wondered about so many things but had no answer for any of them. Those terrible feelings returned. He was exhausted, sore, pregnant and ignorant on what to do next.

Harry never felt so lost.


	3. Decisions and Letters

| Synopsis: | You think you are cursed dear boy; Hell as only begun to spins its web for you. When the Wizarding world turns its back on Harry, desperation and depression soon take their toll and Harry nears the brink of suicide, until his enemies come to his aid. Mpreg, HP/DM, slight HP/SS Dumbledore/Weasley bashing

| Thanks to those who read, reviewed, and favorite/followed. It means a lot to me. In addition, I know this chapter is short but it is starting to get a little hard trying to figure out what to write for each new chapter. Major writers block so you people will have to bear with me while I try to figure out the messy ideas in my head. |

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| _**August 9, 1995**_**—Surrey, Privet Drive No. 4, **

DECISIONS AND LETTERS |

The next few days passed in a blurry haze. At the sound of the car, pulling out of the Dursley's driveway Harry peeked out the window and watched the silver vehicle drive down the street. Turning back the mirror he lifted his baggy shirt up and stared at once-little bump. It had grown during the last few days, turning from its round, small ball to sticking out a little further. Harry frowned and let his shirt fall back down, smoothing the shirt over his big bump and cradling it in his arms.

It was becoming harder and harder to hide his problem from his family. They were already suspicious with his sudden sickness and lack of appetite. If they found out the reason behind it…he did not even want to think about the consequences. Sighing wearily, he stared at his new body with bland interest. He was skinner then he had ever been before, his hair longer and more unruly and eyes sunken in and tired. He still did not know what to do—things were getting away from him too quickly—but he knew that he owed Cedric this much to try to protect the baby.

Letting his arms drop to his side Harry closed the wardrobe doors and sat back down on his bed with a soft sigh. Things were such a mess as it was but he knew he did not have long to sit around and do nothing. The school term started in less than three weeks and he had none of his school supplies ready. Running his fingers through his messy hair Harry sighed again and tried to think of what to do about his Hogwarts situation. He could always go to Diagon Alley the next time the Dursley's went out, go the Gringotts, do all his shopping and come back. But—but if what Ginny had said was true, if everyone was really suspicious about him and afraid him of him then going to Diagon Alley would be kind of…dangerous. Letting his hair fall from his tight grasp Harry stood up and paced, feeling suddenly to anxiety to sit still.

It seemed pointless now. Each time he thought he had everything figured out he suddenly had to consider the inevitable all over again. What if—how many times would that phrase alone come up in his life? Stopping in the middle of his room, Harry looked out the window watching the sky grow darker, a deep violet blue. His relatives should be coming back anytime soon. His eyes soon shifted to the trunk at the foot of the bed. What if—what if he left tonight. Went back into the Wizarding World and faced them all?

A tiny smile pulled at his lips. No — no, he could not do that even if he wanted to. He just did not have it in him anymore to even consider antagonizing a debate with an entire Wizarding community. They would tear him apart… he frowned slightly. It was somewhat frustrating, knowing what he knew now and trying to accept that he would not be able to do anything about it. Sitting back down Harry put his hand against his somewhat large stomach and closed his eyes.

He was tired again, and his feet felt swollen. He had decisions to make, problems to face...A sharp rap against the window had him looking up. Harry stared at the three owls for a moment before standing up and going to open it. It took him a minute to release them from their burdens. Once the mailing creatures were gone Harry sat at his desk and unrolled the first letter.

_I don't even know why I'm writing to you right now. I have so many things I want to ask you, answers I seriously need, but I don't know where to begin anymore. Look, Harry, you're my friend...You were my friend. You've been friends since Year 1 but hearing all this has me torn. I don't know what to say Harry. What to think so I guess this is where I end our friendship._

_I'm sorry,_

_Hermione_

Harry put the letter down, feeling a little sick. Ginny was wrong. Hermione wasn't being sensible. At least it didn't appear that way to Harry. Putting the letter down, Harry unrolled the second letter and began reading it, fearing that it would be just like the first one.

_You're a liar._

_Ron_

__"Thanks for always being my best mates," Harry mumbled throwing Ron's letter down with an unhappy sigh. The part of him that knew he should feel anger because of their betrayal was silent. He just felt so off and hurt that he no longer knew how to consider all these incoming news. Finally it was the last letter.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_As per order of Headmaster Dumbledore I am to come and retrieve you from your place of residence on August 20. Please be prepared to leave by then._

_Professor S. Snape_

__Harry carefully re-read his Potions Professor's letter, trying to make sense of its contents even though it was pretty simple. He just couldn't see him, Severus Snape, walking up to his house and taking him back into the Wizarding world. Putting the letter down Harry stared at the date with tired eyes. August 20. Eleven days until his Professor came to get him. Again Harry felt his eyes being drawn to his trunk.

Should he do it.

Should he leave?


	4. New World

| Synopsis: | You think you are cursed dear boy; Hell as only begun to spins its web for you. When the Wizarding world turns its back on Harry, desperation and depression soon take their toll and Harry nears the brink of suicide, until his enemies come to his aid. Mpreg, HP/DM, slight HP/SS Dumbledore/Weasley bashing

| Thanks to those who read, reviewed, and favorite/followed. It means a lot to me. In addition, I am working on making my chapters longer (not this one)—around 2-3k from now on so the updating will be even slower because I still have no idea where I am going with this story. |

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| _**August 10, 1995**_**—Leaky Cauldron **

NEW WORLD |

"I heard that Harry Potter had gone missing."

"—probably out terrorizing some poor Muggles."

"—parents must be turning in their graves knowing that died for the likes of him."

"—real shame."

Harry held his mug of hot butter beer with shaking hands, trying to smother back his anger as the warlock's conversations reached his ears. They were not trying to keep the topic of their conversation just between their group. No they felt the need to speak loudly and turn everyone's attention to them. Inhaling the smoke from his drink Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. It's been like this since he'd arrived here Sunday night. Even when he remained hidden behind a cloak and hood, all the Wizarding community seemed to want to do was slander up his name. Bringing his drink up and taking a shaky sip of it, Harry closed his eyes and tried to block out their insults and opinions about him. It did not matter he told himself. It was all just a lie they were eating up like twits.

Those words, though true, should have made him feel better whenever he chanted them to himself but he just ended up feeling as if he was trying to fool himself into believing them. Putting down his mug, Harry buried his face in his hands, breathing in-and-out slowly. He could not act rash, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to keep his calm, keep it until he got to Hogwarts and figured out from there on his next move. Finishing the last of his butter beer Harry stood up with slight difficulty. He had woken up to swollen ankles this morning and it was no gross understatement to say that he felt horribly uncomfortable.

Trying not to waddle as he left the dining hall of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry went back upstairs to his room. The moment he walked in Hedwig hooted irritably and ruffled out her feathers. Harry gave her an apologetic smile, knowing that his pet had grown frustrated with him. Since they had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron Harry had kept her inside the room and hidden beneath a black sheet whenever the cleaning witch came. Poking a few owl treats through the bars, Harry made to stroke her but she nipped at his finger and turned her back to him.

"Don't tell me you hate me now too," Harry mumbled dejectedly, staring at Hedwig with pleading eyes. "I know this isn't what you want but you're all I have right now Hedwig."

The owl kept her back to him.

It was like a slap to the face, the last thread of his composure shattering at his feet.

He felt his heart clench inside his chest, tears rapidly filling his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. _Fine, _he thought. _Fine be just like them. See if I care. _

Taking off the traveling cloak and casting it on the bed, Harry stared at the enchant mirror, wondering if it would chaste him like it did this morning for hiding his condition from the world. He knew he would need help soon, would have to tell someone about Cedric's baby, but right now—right now he just wanted to pretend for a little while longer.

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| _**August 11, 1995**_**—Leaky Cauldron **

"—RON! Where are you going?"

Harry looked up from his plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, eyes wide in surprise. He turned around, dreading to see who he already knew was there, and felt his heart drop to the pits of his stomach when he saw Molly Weasley glaring steel-eyed at her youngest son, Ronald. Swallowing the heavy lump that had taken residence in his throat upon seeing the Weasley bunch, Harry turned back around and pulled his hood up further to cover his face from view.

Of course, of all the rotten luck out there in this world his would be the worst. Still, seeing those familiar redheads forced a clench of remembrance in his heart. All those summers spent with them seemed like a bittersweet memory now. A fragment of his old life that Harry desired to return but knew would not. He sighed and pushed his breakfast away. He couldn't eat now, not with his old friends in the same room with him. Standing up and pushing his chair in, Harry turned to make his way back upstairs when he collided with someone.

"Sorry," he mumbled, stepping to the side to let them through.

"It's all right," the other said in a light, gentle voice.

Harry looked at the person in surprise, a smile pulling across his face. "Ginny," he said softly, a relieved sigh escaping him.

Ginny Weasley frowned slightly, staring at Harry with confusion. He pulled his hood back slightly, giving her a glimpse of his face before covering it back up. She looked back at her still arguing family and grabbed Harry's hand pulling him up the staircase with her. Once they were out of sight and hearing, she threw her arms around him, sobbing softly.

"Harry where have been? I've sent you over a hundred letters and you never answered any of them and I was so worried-"

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Harry said, wrapping his arms around her. "I left the Dursley's house on Sunday."

"You've been staying here by yourself all this time?" Ginny asked, wiping her tears.

Harry nodded slightly.

"Why did you leave? Harry you cannot be here. Don't you know what will happen if anyone finds out you are back in the Wizarding world—"

"It's fine," Harry said, cutting her off gently.

"Why did you leave then?" Ginny asked quietly. "Did—is something going on with you Harry? You look sick."

Harry looked away. For a moment, he wondered if he should tell her, but fear crawled in his stomach once more. His hands nearly went towards his concealed stomach before he curled them around the fabric of his cloak and smiled painfully. "No, nothing's going on with me, Ginny. At least not yet…"

"Harry if you need to—"Ginny trailed off, eyes flickering towards the stairs. Voices of her brothers reached her ears and she turned to Harry, eyes slightly wide. "Go. Now." she insisted, urging Harry away from the staircase.

"Later come to my room," Harry said to her. "One-forty-three."

"Okay." Giving him a smile and quick kiss on the cheek, Ginny turned around and met her brothers mid-way, blocking their access. "Ron did you bring my trunk up with you?"

Not sticking around to hear Ron's response Harry made his way back to his bedroom and bolted the door. Throwing off his cloak and trying to still his shaking hands, Harry sat down on the bed, facing the enchanted mirror.

"You look retched dear," the mirror crooned. "Your hair is a mess, your skin so pale and sunken. Not to mention it's only a matter of time before your pregnancy becomes far too noticeable to hide it behind a cloak."

"What do I do then?" Harry asked, gritting his teeth. "If you're so bloody observant then tell me what I should do. I back in a community where my name is slandered and hated. I'm pregnant with a dead man's child and I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. So please tell me what I need to do. Please…."

"I can't tell you a thing if you aren't willing to accept your own problems and vulnerability dear," the mirror said in a softer tone.

"I'm not vulnerable," Harry mumbled.

"Yes you are dear. You're more vulnerable than anyone would have thought possible for the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry covered his face, no longer wanting to be analyzed by the enchanted object. He no longer felt the same now. Being told he was vulnerable, even by a mirror, felt like another thread of himself being removed. He almost wanted to cry because deep down he knew it was true.

He knew he was weak.


End file.
